His Songs
IX. Time goes by Turns
Dar’s a pow’ful rassle ’twix de Good en de Bad, En de Bad’s got de all-under holt; En w’en de wuss come, she come i’on-clad, En you hatter hol’ yo’ bref for de jolt.
But des todes de las’ Good gits de knee-lock, En dey draps ter de groun’—ker flop! Good had de inturn, en he stan’ like a rock, En he bleedzd for ter be on top.
De dry wedder breaks wid a big thunder-clap, For dey ain’t no drout’ w’at kin las’, But de seasons w’at whoops up de cotton crap, Likewise dey freshens up de grass.
De rain fall so saf’ in de long dark night, Twel you hatter hol’ yo’ han’ for a sign, But de drizzle w’at sets de tater-slips right Is de makin’ er de May-pop vine.
In de mellerest groun’ de clay root ’ll ketch
En hol’ ter de tongue er de plow, En a pine-pole gate at de gyardin-patch Never ’ll keep out de ole brindle cow.
One en all on us knows who’s a pullin’ at de bits
Like de lead-mule dat g’ides by de rein, En yit, somehow or nudder, de bestest un us gits Mighty sick er de tuggin’ at de chain.
Hump yo’se’f ter de load en fergit de distress, En dem w’at stan’s by ter scoff, For de harder de pullin’, de longer de res’, En de bigger de feed in de troff.